


Under a Layer of Silence

by Antecanis



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: ConHaythWeek 2016, General Prompts, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antecanis/pseuds/Antecanis
Summary: After Connor manages to rescue Haytham from the torture of a notorious band of smugglers, the Assassin finds himself confronted with having to care for the Templar, and the unfolding events push the young man to admitting many things he never thought he could voice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a ***trigger warning*** I'd like to mention that the aftermath of non-con is mentioned, though not too explicitly / heavily. 
> 
> This is a fill for the prompt "Haytham gets caught by some of his enemies (not Connor’s Assassins). And is tortured in every way possible. Somehow Connor finds him and rescues his father."  
> This turned out quite differently than I expected, I hope you like it!

Connor was waiting. He sat high up in a tree and let his legs dangle in the air; enjoying the mild morning and the first rays of sunlight warming his back. After the chaotic previous day, this was a welcome change.  
Haytham and him had taken on a band of smugglers; the worst kind, who had kidnapped children in England to sell them to the plantations here; who harassed women and killed when they deemed it necessary. It hadn’t been quite an official mission, but the two of them had agreed on taking them out anyways because their activities were threatening not only the order of things, but the peace and safety of the people who had the misfortune of crossing paths with the group. However, there had been more men than they had anticipated, and in the end, at least three had escaped from their grip. The Templar and the young Assassin had agreed upon splitting up and after making sure they weren’t followed, they were supposed to meet in the forest upon sunrise to discuss how to deal with the remaining scoundrels.  
But there was no sign of the Templar, and the Assassin grew more uneasy with every passing minute. He waited until noon, then the uneasiness made him too restless to stay. Usually, his father was quite punctual, never late by hours.  
Late in the afternoon, there was still no trace of the Grand Master. He hadn’t shown up at his Inn, and upon not finding him in any other place he liked to hide out, Connor was sure that the remaining smugglers had gotten to him after all. Somehow, this thought filled him with anxiety, even though he tried not to admit that he cared at all. Haytham was merely a temporary _ally_ if anything; however, that borderline was more than blurry after all those weeks they had spent together. Moreover, he was family, truly, but… Hadn’t the Templar become something to the young man that was none of that; something else entirely?

When it was getting dark, Connor had eventually located an abandoned house which had occasionally been used by the smugglers in the past as the Assassin had been able to find out through his contacts at the harbor.  
There was light in an upper room when the young man approached the house, and after making sure that no one was guarding the building on the outside, he climbed up the façade slowly. Carefully peeking into the room, Connor tried to assess the situation. It seemed like it was some run-down chamber; a bed in the corner, a table, a few chairs and a candlestick spookily illuminating the scene. With adrenaline rushing through him, he spotted his father; kneeling over a water basin that was on one of the chairs, and in that very moment, he was pushed underwater. One of the three men surrounding him had curled his fist into Haytham’s loose grey hair and pressed him down; the water splashing as the Templar faintly tried to resist. He was bloody as Connor could see, but how bad his injuries were was hard to tell since his body was hidden behind one of the men’s silhouette.  
“Where is your companion?”  
Connor could hear his father gasping for air as he was pulled up; bloody water running from his bruised face. With a breathless, dark voice and a teeth-baring snarl, he replied, “Go to hell.”  
“We’re already there, don’t you feel that by now?” The laughter that followed was the last thing that Connor needed to be set in motion. Effortless, he moved up and leaped inside; immediately letting himself fall down to avoid potential throwing knives or even gunfire; using the energy of the fall to result in a side roll, while he tried to assess the situation. The men were stunned by his sudden appearance and Connor instinctively got to his feet again to use the moment of surprise. He jumped onto the table, and took out the two men next to Haytham with his tomahawk and hidden blade as he leaped down in one smooth movement. Watching from the corner of his eyes how the third man readjusted his gun, he was quick to throw his tomahawk; following its flight to retrieve it from the other’s throat and make sure he was really dead.  
Only then he took a deep breath, pushed back his hood and looked at his father. Haytham was leaning over the bloody water basin; his features dripping with pinkish water and his eyes covered by strands of wet hair clinging to his skin. He was naked as Connor could see now; his arms bound behind his back and tied to his feet; bruises and blood covering his body.  
Biting his lips, the young man stepped closer; cutting his father free and shuddering when he could spot more and more injuries. Only now Haytham looked up at him with his bruised and bloodied face. Even his ever-sharp grey eyes seemed dull.  
“I don’t need you rescuing me.”, he croaked out, and blood dropped from his lips.  
“Of course you don’t.”, Connor said with a dark sigh, leaning down to assess the other’s injuries. Haytham tried to turn away, but Connor ignored his weak attempt to hide his injuries. “Is anything broken? Can you move?”  
“Hell if I know…”, Haytham managed to breathe out, and Connor realized that he was barely conscious. He could spot countless bruises and burns in the flickering light of the candles; dried blood masking the cuts and lacerations. Unwillingly, his gaze wandered over the other’s naked body, and he realized that he not only hated to see the Templar like this; vulnerable and hurt; but that he would have liked to see him naked in a very different setting. Before his thoughts could trail off further, Haytham looked at him and gave a pained sound. “There’s…”, he started reluctantly and his eyes moved down, as if pointing towards something. “My side…” Following the faint movement, Connor kneeled down next to him and surveyed the other’s side. When he was about to say that he didn’t see anything, he spotted something on the skin; like a small spot just to the left of the Templar’s stomach.  
“Pull it out.” Haytham’s breath was shallow, and his voice sounded almost pleading. Connor looked up at him with big, dark eyes; surprised and hurt by the tone of the other’s voice.  
Carefully closing his fingertips around the small spot, Connor slowly pulled; not knowing what to expect. To his horror, a long needle slid out of the other’s flesh; resembling knitting needles that Connor had seen in the general stores before. The sound that came over Haytham’s lips was one of a hurt animal, and the young Assassin swallowed heavily as the Grand Master retched; only blood coming over his lips. When Connor put the needle aside and wondered if it had been the only one, he spotted something else.  
Haytham’s right shoulder looked strangely deformed, and as the young man touched it, the Grand Master winced. The Assassin had seen it before, and he pressed his lips together as he realized in what pain the other must be. “I have to fix your shoulder, too, before we can go.”, he said tentatively. “I don’t have laudanum with me, but I promise, it will feel better once I’ve fixed it.”  
“Do whatever you must.”, Haytham said slowly, his eyes averted.  
“Lie down.” Helping the other onto his back, Connor placed a knee against Haytham’s torso and slowly pulled the other’s arm. Groaning in pain, the Grand Master turned away his face, but Connor had seen tears of anguish welling up in the other’s eyes. When he could hear a snapping sound, the young man knew that it had worked, and he hoped that the pain was more bearable now. Getting up again, he realized that Haytham was unconscious. Leaning over his father, he had the urge to pull him into his arms, but instead he slapped his cheek softly. “Come on, old man, wake up, we should get out of here.”  
Groaning, Haytham’s eyes fluttered open again, and for a moment Connor believed to see something like affection in them as the older man recognized his son.  
Looking around for Haytham’s clothing, he eventually spotted parts of it in a corner of the room. As he went to fetch it, he saw just how much blood covered the bed and the floor next to it. Glancing back at his father, he clenched his jaw. He reached for the heavy Templar’s coat and collected Haytham’s weapons that were hidden beneath the fabric. Hesitating for a moment, he picked up the hat, too; guessing the other would scold him if he left it behind. He proceeded to place the coat around the other’s shoulders as he helped him to sit up. After a moment, he added gravely “I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier.”  
“You didn’t have to come at all. I didn’t tell them anything.” Haytham’s voice sounded strained as Connor closed up the coat well enough for them to get outside; knowing that it was pointless to help the other dress further; the wounds needed to be tended soon.  
“I know.”, Connor remarked quietly, placing Haytham’s left arm around his shoulders and lifting him up. The Grand Master groaned in pain, and Connor wished there was another way of moving him. He noticed how the other tried to stand on his own feet, but failed to do so.  
“How would you know that?” Haytham coughed, and more blood trickled from his lips.  
“Because they would’ve stopped torturing you if you had.”, Connor remarked quietly. “What did they want?”, he asked while more or less carrying the other downstairs and outside.  
When Haytham didn’t answer instantly, the young man thought that he might have lost consciousness again, but eventually the Templar brought out, “Revenge.”  
“They asked for me, didn’t they?” Connor helped him towards a wagon of hay that was standing at the side of the street and once they had reached it, he proceeded to lift his father up, so he could lie in the hay on their way to a safe place.  
“They asked for many things.”, the Grand Master remarked evasively.  
Connor looked around into the dark, empty streets once more to make sure they weren’t followed by anymore smugglers he wasn’t aware of, then got up on the wagon and set the horse in motion; quietly apologizing to the person he was stealing the wagon from; promising to return it once he could. He placed the other’s weapons and hat next to him; his fingers running over them thoughtlessly as they left the city. One of Connor’s emergency hideouts was just outside town; an abandoned house where they could hole up for the moment and assess the Templar’s injuries without any attention; plus, there were a few supplies stashed; clothes, firewood and blankets; laudanum.  
“Why didn’t you just tell them where I was?”, he asked after a moment of silence, glancing back at his father.  
“If I’d known I would’ve.” The Templar’s voice was husky and tired.  
But Connor knew that wasn’t true – Haytham had known their meeting place but no one had been there waiting for Connor; his father hadn’t betrayed him even under torture such as this.  
“You could’ve told them where I’d be waiting for you.”  
Haytham snorted. “You couldn’t have taken their torture.”  
And even though Connor knew Haytham tried to let it sound as if it was Connor’s weakness that had kept the older man from giving him up, all he could hear was _I didn’t want them to do this to you._

Once they had reached their destination, Connor readied the living room in a hurry to be able to tend for the other’s wounds.  
Helping his father inside, he noticed blood and something else trickling down his father’s legs as he stumbled inside. Clenching his jaw, he averted his eyes and let Haytham lie down onto the make-shift sickbed.  
“I’ll find some laudanum for you…”  
“I don’t need it.” His father’s voice sounded dark and in pain, and Connor couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  
“Of course you don’t.”, he said and went to find the tincture.  
When he came back, he realized that Haytham wasn’t conscious anymore. It was strange to see the ever-arrogant Grand Master pale and hurt like this; unable to stay conscious even though he tried his best not to show weakness in front of his son.  
Hesitating briefly, Connor raised the other’s head and made him drink just a bit of the laudanum; hoping it was enough to ease the pain. Giving in to the childish urge from before, Connor wrapped his arms around the other; just remaining like this for a moment and feeling the other’s warmth against his skin; assuring him that Haytham was still there, was still _alive;_ that there was still hope.

After a moment, he proceeded to remove the bloodied coat to be able to care for the other’s wounds. He got water and some clean cloths, grimacing as he surveyed the injuries. Small cuts, burns and bruises covered the older man’s pale skin, and bit by bit Connor cleaned the dried blood from them; shaking his head in the face of such violence. Two larger cuts on his stomach would have to be stitched, and a nasty wound on Haytham’s shoulder that Connor only identified as a bite mark upon closer inspection would have to be especially well cleaned. After doing the latter, he brought fresh water and took a deep breath before he could continue. Having covered the other’s crotch with a cloth, he couldn’t get around cleaning there as well, and with an awkward feeling, he eventually removed it. The other’s thighs were covered in bruises, too, and when Connor proceeded to clean there, Haytham groaned. Clenching his jaw, Connor’s eyes flickered up to his father’s face; knowing that him waking up now would just embarrass them both.  
Having made sure that Haytham hadn’t come to his senses just yet, he wanted to resume cleaning but suddenly realized that the other thing smeared between his father’s thighs was cum. Overwhelmed by emotion, the young man got to his feet; taking a deep breath as he could guess what had happened. He slowly took another deep breath to calm down his galloping, furious heart, and then got back to his knees; his hands shaking with helpless anger. Connor tried to focus and continued to survey the other’s wounds; cleaning the blood from his knees and ankles. There were rope burns all over Haytham’s body and the young Assassin wondered just how long he had been tied up like that; it seemed like they had gotten to Haytham soon after the two of them had split up. How three men had been able to overwhelm the Grand Master, Connor couldn’t quite understand.  
He let his hands run over the other’s skin carefully; trying to feel where bones might be broken; but it felt strange to touch him in such a tender way. Aside from a rib, nothing seemed to be broken, even though it was hard to tell. Bitterly shaking his head once more, the Assassin placed a blanket over the other’s lower body and proceeded with caution as he reached out to sit Haytham up; having the Templar lean against him as he continued washing the other’s back. He could feel the other’s shallow breath against his neck and shuddered.  
With a groan, Haytham seemed to come to again; immediately trying to back away, and Connor let go of him carefully.  
Haytham coughed and wiped his bloodied lips with the back of his hand; realizing that Connor had washed him so far. Turning towards the young man, his eyes seemed dark. “I didn’t ask you to help me.”  
Shaking his head, Connor clenched his jaw grimly. “Well, that was probably because you were _unconscious._ And I’m not done washing you. Just shut up, will you? I don’t expect a thank you.”  
“I don’t need to be… washed like a child.” Haytham scoffed.  
“You’re still bloody, you’ve still… their… I…” Averting his eyes, Connor reached for the cloth and held it out to his father. “You can do it yourself, if you don’t want me to do it. I’ve already seen what they _did.”_  
There was silence, and as Haytham didn’t pick up the cloth, the young man dared to look up again. The Grand Master’s expression seemed defeated, and he clutched his side where the needle had been.  
“They tortured me, that’s what they _did.”_  
“Father…”  
“I don’t want your pity.” His words were stern, but the young Assassin believed to hear something bitter in them; wishing they had never split up; wishing he had been there earlier, or even… wishing they had found him instead.  
“You’re mistaken.”, he muttered as he put the cloth back into the bowl of pink water. “It’s not pity.”  
His father gave an impatient snort. “Call it what you please, lad. I don’t need your sentiments.”  
Connor was torn between telling the truth or just burying it deeper within himself, and his busy thoughts were only interrupted as Haytham pulled up the blanket a bit more, and demanded, “Instead of feeling sorry, make yourself useful for once and bring me some water and _clothes.”_  
Sighing inaudibly, the Assassin got to his feet and went to do as he was asked.

When he came back, Haytham had swung his legs over the edge of the makeshift bed, but apparently it had cost him a lot of energy, and he was crouched over; clutching his side where fresh blood was smeared over the pale skin.  
“Stop it! I’ve to stitch those cuts before you can move!” Connor kneeled down in front of him; putting down the jar of water and the stashed clothing he had gathered as he caught a dark, angry glance by the other. The young Assassin could see his father’s annoyance with being helpless and pitied, and before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out, “It’s not pity! I’ve just… I wanted to be the first one.”  
There was surprise visible in Haytham’s eyes, and Connor instantly regretted his words. But before he could take anything back or steer it in a different direction, Haytham said, “The first… to do what? Fuck me into compliance?”  
“No! No…” Connor swallowed. “To… to _hold_ you like that.”, he stuttered, knowing that he made a fool out of himself.  
Haytham snorted. “I didn’t take you for a sodomite.”  
“I’m not!” Getting to his feet again, Connor wished he could just run away. Pressing his lips together, he watched as his father reached for the shirt that Connor had brought.  
“Oh?” Haytham shot him a dark and somewhat amused glance. “So it just occurred to you – “ He proceeded to pull the shirt on with some difficulties due to his hurt shoulder and broken rib. “ – to take a liking to the idea of making a _punk_ out of your own father?”  
Shaking his head, Connor hated this conversation already. He wished he hadn’t voiced any of it; he would never hear the end of it.  
“No.” He couldn’t help but sound bitter. “Forget I said anything.”  
Haytham let out a joyless little laugh. “You wouldn’t have been the first one either way, boy; if that was your only concern, forget about it already.”  
With a dark, curious glance, Connor’s eyes rested upon the other; wondering what exactly that meant. No; it wasn’t just about being the first, he thought with confusion. It was more about the idea of having a bond with the other that no one else had; of embracing the other unlike anyone before; a feeling like when they were one, he could feel whole…  
“Come now, help me put on these breeches.”  
“You have to rest. It’s just the laudanum making you feel better.”, Connor let out weakly as he stumbled closer again, still bewildered by their discussion.  
“Nonsense, I’m just fine – “  
But the moment he tried to get up, Haytham simply collapsed into the young man’s arms.  
“Of course you are.”, Connor muttered with frustration under his breath as he heaved his father back onto the bed. As he leaned over Haytham, who seemed to battle his body passing out once more, the Assassin couldn’t help but let out an angry, “You fool! You should’ve sent them to me! I know you think I’m weak but I could’ve taken them! Why the hell did you let them do this to you when you could’ve just told them?”  
Haytham coughed and blinked in pain as he looked up at Connor. Fresh blood stained the shirt, and the young man knew that he would have to stitch the cuts right away.  
“Poison.” His father’s voice was rough and quiet, and the Assassin’s eyes widened in realization as of why three men had been able to overcome the Grand Master of the Templars. “They would’ve just… drugged you, too. It wouldn’t have been a… a fair fight… and then… they would’ve…”  
With that, Haytham was left unconscious once again; and this time, he would stay that way for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever had happened when Haytham had attempted to get up, it had been serious. The Templar was feverish and in pain from then on; never conscious, at the most delirious. Connor had stitched him up and cleaned his inflamed injuries; had fed him soup and laudanum once or twice a day and washed him whenever necessary. After three days, there was still no improvement, even though the smaller wounds were slowly healing. Connor watched over the other; helpless because he wasn’t sure what exactly was preventing Haytham from getting better. When he sat by his side and tended his wounds his mind wandered off all too often; his imagination coming up with cruel images of the other’s torture. When he drifted off into sleeplike states, he could see his father being violated and beaten; burned and tormented. And every so often he could see Haytham reach out for him in those dreams, begging for Connor to come to his rescue.  
Sometimes, when he awoke to such images being still all too present, he dared to kneel down next to his father’s sickbed and just bury his face in the other’s neck; feeling the other’s warmth as a reminder that he was still there; and he quietly apologized for not having been there earlier; telling him that he _cared;_ yes, that he cared more than he wanted, and more than was allowed. It were sweet Mohawk words whispered into Haytham’s ears, and even though Connor was glad the Templar didn’t hear or understand any of it, it felt intoxicatingly illicit to let them come over his lips anyways.

On the fourth day, there seemed to be some improvement as Haytham appeared to be more at rest, rather sleeping than wrestling with death. Connor had prepared a make-shift sleeping place next to the fireplace for himself; curling up on a bear fur and wrapped in a blanket. That evening, he sat by the fire and watched the pale features of his father, illuminated by the flames; and with a low voice, he sang a song that his mother had used to sing to him when he was sick. It was a dark melody, and there were parts in it that he didn’t understand because the ancient words had been given from generation to generation. But it didn’t matter because he still knew the song’s spirit; isolated meaning wasn’t important as long as the song stayed whole.

And in the night of the fifth day, Haytham woke up.  
“Water…”  
Connor startled up from his light sleep; wondering if he had been dreaming again. But when he raised his head and looked sleepily at his father, he could see the clouded grey eyes resting on him.  
Getting to his feet hastily, he got over to the other and wrapped his arms around him; closing his eyes for a moment and muttering a vague thank you to any deity that was responsible.  
Haytham let him do so without any complaints, and when Connor let go of him, he mustered a tired smile. Connor returned the light smile and reached for the jar of water, lifting it to the other’s lips and letting him take a few gulps.  
“How long…?” Haytham’s voice was raw.  
“Five days.”  
Giving a vague grunt, the Templar cleared his throat and caught Connor’s dark glance. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Connor could see that there was just another quip wanting to leave his father’s lips. But before he could say anything more, Connor had leaned down; feeling like he was still dreaming because his father was awake again, and maybe spurred by this sense of unreality he cupped Haytham’s cheek and questioningly placed his lips onto the other’s.  
After a second of surprise, the Templar returned the gesture softly; and for a while it was just an amalgamation of smaller kisses pressed to their lips; but then Connor’s tongue licked over Haytham’s lips, who willingly parted them to deepen their kiss. It was a slow, appreciative kiss with lips and tongues moving gently against each other; their breath slowly shared and almost inaudible sounds leaving their flushed lips.  
When Connor pulled away, his dark eyes were filled with pleasant surprise and anxiety; wondering if his father had just went along because he was still delirious. But the older man’s eyes seemed clearer now, with the fire giving them a dangerous gleam.  
“You need to shave.”, Connor muttered in lack of anything else to say.  
A small smirk played around the corner of his father’s mouth and Haytham reached up to run his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “I reckon so.”

The following days passed slowly, and bit by bit, Haytham’s condition was improving. His wounds were healing, and his mind seemed as stubborn and strong as ever; soon he was quarreling with the Assassin whether or not he should stay in bed. This time, however, Connor could convince him to rest for just a few days longer in order to avoid the last attempt reiterated.  
Neither had they talked about the kiss nor repeated it, but for Connor it was still a precious memory he carried around with him in wonderment and with affection.  
He knew that his father would leave as soon as he had recovered, and the thought of it was accompanied by a certain reluctance to let the other go; heavy-heartedly Connor knew that sooner or later, everything would be back to normal.  
He admitted to himself that the two them being so peacefully together gave him hope that their relationship didn’t have to end it blood and death after all; that maybe, there was a piece to this puzzle that just had to be found for them to connect and be part of the same world.

 _“Careful.”_  
“I don’t need your instructions, boy.” But there was a vague, mocking smile playing around Haytham’s lips as he said so, and Connor couldn’t help but allow a grin flashing over his lips as he helped the other get to his feet. For a moment, the young man was worried to have the previous incident repeated as his father staggered into his arms, but then Haytham was standing on his feet again and carefully stretched.  
“Heavens, that was about time…”  
“Yeah.”, Connor agreed, but he knew that it was another step towards Haytham leaving soon and maybe that disappointment was visible in his eyes because when Haytham glanced at him, he seemed amused.  
“What? Don’t tell me you prefer me being confined to the bed?”  
“No, of course not.” Averting his eyes, Connor wished it was entirely true; having to admit that it had felt nice to care for the other while Haytham was awake and dependent on him; so very different from his usual self. But the young man was certainly glad to see the other well again; to have his fierce, skillful father back – just the implication of him leaving soon left a bitter taste.  
The Grand Master let out a breathy little laugh as he saw his son’s reaction, and before Connor knew it, the other had pulled him into his arms and closed the gap between them with a kiss.  
Surprised, the young man needed a moment to respond, but once he did, he wrapped his arms around the Templar; wishing to hold onto Haytham while he could. The Grand Master’s one hand rested on Connor’s neck, and it felt cool against the young man’s flushed skin. Giving a soft sound of eagerness into their kiss, the Assassin pulled the other just a bit closer; wishing this had happened sooner; without Haytham having been so heavily injured.  
Gently, the Templar moved backwards again; pulling Connor onto his lap as he sat down onto the bed again. Straddling his father’s lap, the young man cupped the other’s face with both his hands and continued with his rough kiss. Haytham’s silver hair was spilling in soft waves over his shoulders and Connor dared to let a hand run through it. Shuddering, he could feel one of Haytham’s hands moving over his back slowly; eventually cupping his ass quite shamelessly.  
Pulling away to take a few panted breaths, Connor looked at the other with dark, wanting eyes, wondering if this had been bound to happen one day. He ran a hand over the other’s cheek and his heart ached with the knowledge that this was not allowed, that it was beyond what could make either one of them happy in this life. And still, for this brief moment, it felt good and affectionate; adding something to his heart that completed it; letting it feel whole for just a while.  
“I know I can’t be your first.”, Connor muttered quietly as he pushed a strand of his father’s hair behind an ear. “But… you could be _my_ first.”  
A soft smile flashed over Haytham’s lips and he reached up to trace Connor’s lips with his thumb as if to remember not only their taste.  
“Is that really what you want?”  
“Yes.”  
“But?” Raising a brow, Haytham seemed to look right through him, and Connor squirmed a bit in his lap.  
“But… that’s maybe not the only thing I’d like to ask of you.”, the young man admitted, and it almost sounded like a question.  
“So?” Resting his hands on Connor’s hips, Haytham waited patiently for the young man to continue.  
Shaking his head a little, Connor knew that he would sound like an idiot. _Please, don’t ever force me to kill you, no matter how far we drift apart. If you die by my hand, I’ll be forever incomplete._  
“It’s nothing. Forget about it.”  
Haytham regarded him with a mild expression; still waiting for Connor to voice his other request, but the young man didn’t utter another word.  
“Well then, boy, I am afraid you have to let me get up again. My body won’t regain its strength from sitting around and exchanging sweet nothingness.”  
When Connor reluctantly complied, Haytham struggled, but got up by himself. When he passed the young man on his way towards the door, he leaned in and whispered, “But I’ll take you up on being your first.”  
Leaving the blushing boy behind, the Grand Master slowly made his way outside to catch a breeze of fresh air after being confined to the bed for such a long time.

The first snow came, and Haytham stayed just a few more days; however, he was not idle. It almost seemed like it was hard for him to endure times in which there wasn’t much to do, and after he had cleaned his weapons, washed and stitched his coat, cleaned up parts of the house in ignorance of Connor’s protesting, trained for as long as his body allowed, he was impatiently looking for other things to keep himself busy with. Somehow, Connor wished Haytham could be busy with _him,_ but he didn’t dare to voice that. The young man was quite occupied with helping around the Homestead anyways; giving the other settlers a hand for the last winter preparations and being away for long hours.  
Still, every night he slept near his father by the fireplace, not only because of a newborn habit, but because he liked to hear his father’s breath upon falling asleep; at least wanting to be able to do so until Haytham left. And every day that moment seemed to come sooner; Haytham’s outer wounds were almost healed with the exception of the bite and the cuts, and only the rib seemed to trouble the Grand Master now and then. Nothing else had happened between them, and sometimes the young Assassin wondered if he had just dreamed their tender moments.

 _Haytham groaned as he endured the pain. Blood covered his hand as he shakily reached out for Connor, who couldn’t do a thing; watching in horror. “Help me…! Connor…! Make them stop, please...”_  
“Connor.”  
Startling up, the young man needed a moment to separate his dream and reality. Haytham was leaning over him, and a hand ran soothingly through the young man’s hair.  
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”, the Assassin muttered sleepily, running a hand over his face and wondering how long he had slept. The fire was still smoldering, radiating a pleasant warmth and providing just enough light to see.  
Shaking his head, the Templar lifted the other’s blanket, and for a moment, the young man was simply puzzled. He only understood when Haytham slipped beneath it and pulled him into his arms.  
Still feeling sleepy, the Assassin just pressed a soft kiss to the other’s neck and mumbled, “I’m really sorry.”  
“For what?” Haytham’s voice was husky, and he reached out to gently raise Connor’s chin; locking eyes with him.  
“For not coming earlier.”  
A joyless smile appeared briefly on the Templar’s lips. “Don’t think about that now.” With that, he leaned in and kissed the young man.  
Wrapping his arms around the other, Connor returned the kiss slowly, feeling weirdly suffused by something that maybe resembled happiness; he wasn’t sure how to call it, but it felt good and safe.  
Haytham urged him gently back down and leaned over him with their kiss still continuing; and Connor’s heart was throbbing with the idea where this could lead. His hands shyly ran over his father’s shoulders; carefully avoiding to touch the injuries. Tangling their legs, the young man wished this moment of warmth and tenderness could remain forever.  
The Templar had propped up one elbow to be able to lean over the young man, and his other hand was roaming freely over the young man’s body now; tracing the curves of his defined chest and only slowly wandering further; eventually resting on Connor’s hip and pressing their bodies together.  
Connor was panting softly; impatient to have the other feel his arousal, and anxious about the moment he would. Haytham carefully shifted a leg between Connor’s and rubbed against the other’s erection gently. Giving a soft sound, the young man waited for some snarky comment, but there was none. Instead, the Templar’s lips left his’ and wandered over the bronze skin; kissing Connor’s throat and sucking where neck and shoulder met.  
After those days of care, the Assassin knew the other’s body well, but it felt so very different now that his hands wandered over it while the older man explored his son’s.  
“Father…”  
Haytham raised his head and looked at him questioningly. His features seemed soft in the warm glow of the smoldering wood in the fireplace, and his loose hair spilled like silver over his broad shoulders. For a moment, Connor was just in awe; wondering how the Grand Master of the Templars had ended up docile, beautiful and wanting in his arms.  
“Konnorónhkwa, Raké:ni...”  
He had whispered it in his father’s ears countless times during the time Haytham was unconscious, and still, it wasn’t easy to let it come over his lips now. Wondering whether or not Haytham understood, he didn’t dare to repeat what he meant in English. With a mild expression, the Templar leaned in; and with a breathy, dark voice, he whispered into Connor’s ear, “Iah tewake'nikonhraién:ta's. Tiohrhén:sa satá:ti, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”  
Shuddering, the young man clasped the other’s shirt; somewhat surprised and weirdly enough even more so aroused to hear his mother’s tongue from his father’s lips. The Grand Master was cruel; claiming in Mohawk not to understand what Connor had said and demanding for him to say it in English.  
When Haytham shifted to lean over Connor just a bit more, he stressed his demand by sliding one hand beneath the young man’s pants; palming his cock and rubbing against it gently.  
“Tiohrhén:sa satá:ti, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”, he repeated commandingly, and Connor gasped; burying his fingers into the fur beneath him as he moved up his hips. It was the first time that someone else was touching him this way, and somehow it made his mind go blank.  
“I…”, he started, interrupted by a soft sound escaping him as Haytham teased him some more. “I care about you.”, he muttered, his dark eyes searching for his father’s.  
The Templar seemed pleased, even though they both knew it wasn’t _quite_ what Connor had meant.  
“Good boy.”, the Grand Master all but purred. He let the blanket slip off their bodies, and proceeded to remove the young man’s pants. Connor let him do so; his heartbeat drowning out every clear thought. After Haytham had reached out to pull the linen shirt over the Assassin’s head, Connor was lying naked before him; only his necklace adorning the taut chest. His skin was glowing in the warm light of the fire’s ember, and for a moment, the Templar just seemed to appreciate the sight. He let his fingers run over Connor’s cock gently; rubbing over the tip and watching the young man’s reaction attentively. Arching his back off the fur, Connor spread his legs just a bit further, liking the hungry way his father’s eyes seemed to devour him already.  
 _“Akwá:wen.”_ , Haytham breathed out sternly. _Mine_.  
Gasping, Connor shuddered and gave a vague nod in response. “Henh, Raké:ni…”  
Reaching beside them, the Templar produced a small vial that the young man had never seen before; vaguely wondering where and when Haytham had gotten it. He had an idea as of what it contained, but after all, he hadn’t done this before.  
The oil emitted a sweet, flowery scent when the Grand Master poured some in the palm of his hand. He looked up from it as he let it warm up and caught Connor’s intense glance.  
A crooked smirk flashed over Haytham’s face, and the young man bit his lips; any sleepiness that might have suffused him before was certainly gone.  
After slicking his fingers with the scented oil, the Templar hesitated for a moment; eventually looking up once more. “Just because you’re not the first, doesn’t mean you’re not special.”  
Before Connor had the time to process what his father had uttered just now, the Templar’s finger circled his entrance and eventually pushed inside of him. It was a weird sensation, and the young man winced; trying to remind himself that this was supposed to be a very pleasant thing that people liked to engage in.  
“It will feel better after you’re used to it. Doing this, the actual act won’t hurt as much.”, Haytham said; apparently guessing that so far, it just felt strange. Slowly, his fingers started moving; sliding in and out, stretching Connor gently; pushing into him deep once in a while.  
Only gradually the sensation changed, and at some point, when Haytham’s fingers seemed to have found a certain spot within him, a wave of something like pleasure rushed through the young man. Connor blushed as he gave a surprised sound and moved up his hips in reaction to the intense sensation. Pressing his lips together to prevent another such sound to pass them, he wondered if this was normal. Smiling, the Grand Master repeated the movement and against his will, Connor gave another groan. Haytham pulled his fingers from the boy and leaned over him again, wincing a bit when he seemed to move his rib in the wrong way. Crashing their lips together, he bent down for a hungry kiss while his fingers doubtlessly worked on his breeches to free his cock.  
The young Assassin wished his father would be naked, too, but he knew he couldn’t reveal those injuries and their traces just yet, and so he simply hoped there would be another day of him having Haytham in his arms like this.  
Connor knew what would happen next, and he clasped the other’s shirt tightly; his heart pounding in his chest as he returned the kiss hesitantly; distracted by the realization that this was really happening.  
His body jerked when he could feel his father’s slick cock nudging his entrance; pressing against it and slowly sliding inside of him.  
Feeling how tears welled up, he gave a strangled sound into their kiss, not knowing whether it hurt or felt good. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the pleasant feeling of their shared kiss; but another choked sound left his throat as Haytham’ cock slid deeper into him. Trembling, Connor arched his back; letting go of the other’s shirt to bury his hands into the fur once more; just wanting to hold onto something.  
The Templar’s lips left his’ and proceeded to wander down over the bronze skin; trailing the arch of Connor’s neck with playful bites and covering the young man’s broad chest with hickeys; licking over a nipple experimentally and holding onto the Assassin’s hips tightly as he pushed into him completely. The young man’s body felt strange with all these stimulations; and he shivered as Haytham paused for a moment. Taking a few deep breaths, the young man opened his eyes again and looked up at his father; his heart pounding in his chest. It crossed his mind that they were connected right in that moment; that they were intertwined more than they were possibly allowed to, being one just now; and somehow these thoughts led to a shaky smile appearing on his lips.  
“Can you take it?” Haytham’s voice was dark and wanting as he regarded the boy beneath him; sprawled out like that, with his fingers curled into the fur and his legs spread for the Grand Master.  
“Henh, ioianerátie, Raké:ni.”, Connor answered huskily, not realizing that he hadn’t said it in English.  
Slowly, Haytham pulled out almost completely; watching the other squirm before he gripped tightly onto Connor’s hips and proceeded to push back into him; visibly struggling to hold back and be gentle and slow.  
Unable to keep soft sounds pouring over his lips plentiful as Haytham moved, Connor gasped as the other reached that one certain spot within him.  
The Grand Master’s pace quickened with every thrust, and Connor was trembling; trying to keep the moans from leaving his throat as he bit his lips and vaguely wondered just how quickly this strange feeling of intrusion had changed into the more than pleasant sensation of the other’s cock slamming into him; every now and then brushing past that one weird spot that made him jolt with pleasure; letting him tear up and shiver.  
Haytham noticed the young man’s reluctance to let out his voice, and with a smug expression, he forced two fingers between the Assassin’s teeth; watching the boy jolt and squirm beneath him as the Templar picked up the pace. Panting, the Grand Master regarded his son with dark eyes; watching how sweat trailed the defined curves of Connor’s chest, and precum trickled onto his stomach; listening greedily to the sounds that now left the Assassin’s flushed lips. Connor’s eyes were glazed over with want, and he glanced up at the other; closing his lips around the fingers and sucking slightly as he watched the other shudder.  
“Heavens…”, Haytham muttered as he moved forward again; his one hand still holding onto the young man’s hips; pushing into him more forcefully now. Connor’s back arched off the fur once more; and as he bit down onto the other’s fingers not all too gently, Haytham pulled them away with an amused hiss. Strands of black hair clung to the Assassin’s skin, and by now, he didn’t care about the moans leaving his lips anymore; he just held onto the fur tightly and felt how the hotness in his stomach seemed to grow and flood his body. When Haytham ran a spit-slicked finger over a nipple and gave it a rough pinch, the young man was pushed over the edge and came with a soft cry; spilling over his stomach and chest.  
Haytham seemed mildly surprised to see the boy climax without having his cock touched even once; but it just spurred his arousal if anything. Giving a dark moan, he leaned down and buried his teeth into Connor’s neck as his thrusts grew erratic and harsh. Letting out another weak moan, Connor just bared his throat more; being fucked through the orgasm as he was trembling and enjoying the blissful wave drowning his worries for a peaceful moment.  
The Grand Master’s grip turned almost bruising when he shuddered and came; a pleasured moan passing his lips as they left Connor’s skin.  
When Haytham pulled away, the young man weakly reached out for him and pulled him down by his hair gently; claiming another kiss. He could feel his heart calming down only slowly; still suffusing him with an exciting rush of lust.  
Their kiss was breathless and still hungry; just fueling their want lingering in their pleasured hearts. Letting soft sounds escape his lips into their kiss, Connor wrapped his arms around the other; not wanting to come back to his senses just yet; not wanting to think about how this would end; how they would always be separated through their ties to Order and Creed; how this was more than just forbidden; a sin, really…  
“More, more… Father…”  
 _Don’t leave me just yet. Don’t let this moment end now._  
Groaning, the Grand Master pulled away; his breath heavy as he gave a husky laugh and reached out to brush a strand of hair out of the young man’s face. However, he seemed to comply; giving himself a few strokes to get hard again; watching Connor’s hungry gaze with something that looked like wonder.  
After a moment, the Templar reached out and urged Connor to turn around; running his hands over the young man’s back once he did and aligning himself with the other’s slick entrance again. Connor gave a sinful sound once his father’s cock slid into him again; this time it was just one smooth movement and they were one again; illicitly connected and moving, breathing, sighing in the rhythm of their perfectly synchronized heartbeats.  
“Raké:ni…!” By now, Connor’s voice was hoarse from moaning out his pleasure; and he pressed his reddened face into the fur; holding onto it as his father took him hard; now knowing how to move to let the young man’s body be flooded with pleasure and sensation.  
Haytham leaned over him; panting as he pushed into the other deep; as if trying to let their pleasure settle their score once and for all; as if to drown them both in this lest they would ever wake up to be enemies again.  
When the Grand Master came and spent himself into his son’s body once more, Connor gave another strangled sound and let himself be pushed over the edge by that feeling.  
Breathing heavily, the Templar let himself fall down onto the fur next to his son; reaching out and pulling the Assassin close as their pounding hearts calmed down slowly.  
Connor reached for the blanket and draped it over them; knowing that their sweaty bodies would cool down fast enough; guessing that they needed to wash up in the morning; but for now, he just felt blissfully exhausted.  
Resting his head onto Haytham’s shoulder, he carefully placed an arm around his father and wished neither for the first nor for the last time, that everything was different; everything except for this.  
The Templar pressed a soft kiss to the young man’s temple and gave a satisfied sigh.  
And after a moment of silence, in which the young man slowly drifted into the realm of sleep, Haytham muttered, “Niá:wen ki’ wáhi, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”  
Giving a soft sound of acknowledgement, Connor cuddled just a bit closer, wanting to say many things.  
 _Konnorónhkwa; I care about you more than I could ever admit. Please, however far we drift apart, I beg you, don’t ever force me to kill you. I think your blood on my hands could break me one day because, no matter how different we are, you’re the only one who can make me feel whole like this..._ But he was too sleepy to let it come over his lips. I’ll tell him tomorrow, he thought as he dozed off.

His dreams were light and gentle; freed from visions of torture and blood.   
But when he woke up in the morning, Haytham was not by his side anymore.  
Shivering, Connor pulled the blanket around his shoulders and got up with wobbly knees; feeling wetness between his thighs as he stumbled through the house to find his father. The Templar’s things were gone and with weary eyes, the Assassin looked out of the window. Snow was falling heavily, and when Connor opened the front door, he could see it filling in the footsteps leading away from the house.  
Taking a deep breath, the young man remained by the door for a moment longer; watching the quiet tumbling of the snowflakes; covering up the words that Connor had wanted to say; leaving them lost and buried beneath a layer of silence.


End file.
